


The Shining Furies

by Spacecadet72



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Chocolate Box Treat, F/M, POV First Person, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecadet72/pseuds/Spacecadet72
Summary: I took another drag of my cigar and paused to listen at the sound of footsteps outside the hall. It was definitely a dame, the sound of her heels creating a drum beat of desperation against the tile.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	The Shining Furies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



> This was such a fun idea, I had to try it. I don't typically write in first person POV, but of course, had to for a Noir AU. It was a blast to write, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Title is taken from a random combination on this [Thriller Title Generator](https://www.writerswrite.co.za/thriller-book-title-generator/). I picked it mostly because it sounded cool, but I also liked the reference to the Furies from Greek mythology, who were female deities of vengeance of the underworld. One of the crimes they punished was murder.

My office was dark and cold, mirroring the night outside. Nothing like the mugginess and warmth I had been used to down South, where the air sometimes felt so thick you could cut through it. But up here, in Boston, the nights were chilled, turning the air so cold you could not tell if a man was smoking or just taking a breath.

I let out a puff of smoke from my cigar, and watched as the smoke furled away from me. It was technically after hours, but it was not like I had anyone waiting for me at home, and the booze was better here. There was a light on in the hall outside my office, illuminating the "Benoit Blanc, Private Eye" emblazoned on the glass of my door.

I took another drag of my cigar and paused to listen at the sound of footsteps outside the hall. It was definitely a dame, the sound of her heels creating a drum beat of desperation against the tile. She hesitated outside the door, her silhouette clear against the glass in the door. Her knock a few moments later was soft.

"It is open," I drawled, as I sat up and turned on my desk lamp, wondering just what brought this woman to my door. The door opened slowly and she was backlit for a few brief seconds before she moved into the room. I immediately began cataloguing everything I could about her, looking for any clue that would help with whatever crisis brought her to me. This woman was beautiful, her large wide eyes and soft mouth showing her distress. She was dressed simply, her hair pulled back in an equally simple and practical style. Many of the women I had met with looks like hers wore splashy clothes to match, but something in her demeanor and her expression intrigued me. There was more to this pretty face and if she proved to be a puzzle, she was one I wanted to solve.

"Detective Blanc?" Her voice was melodic, and her accent was not the accent Boston was known for. But then, neither was mine. "I need your help."

I nodded, and gestured for her to take a seat in front of my desk. Her movements were fluid but economical, as if she was trying not to draw attention to herself.

"How can I be of assistance?"

She looked down at her hands as they lay clasped in her lap before she brought her head up to meet my eyes, an unexpected determination in every line of her face. I was surprised. Everything she had shown me up until now had told me that I was looking at a frightened mouse searching for protection, but there was steel behind her eyes. This was more intriguing to me than any gorgeous dame in a beautiful dress.

"My employer is in danger and I need you to catch the person who wants him dead." There was a thread of that steel flowing through her sweet voice. She was a fighter.

"Who is your employer?" Even without more information, I wanted to take this case. A potential murderer always caught my attention, and there was something about Marta Cabrera that made me want to assist her.

"Harlan Thrombey."

My brows rose at that. Everyone knew of Harlan Thrombey, the brilliant and prolific mystery novelist. My acceptance of this case was almost guaranteed. "Why do you think his life is in danger?"

She swallowed, clearly still shaken by whatever events had already unfolded. "Someone switched the medication that I give him to cause an overdose. We caught it before I could give him the wrong dosage, but it could only have been deliberate."

A clever woman and a cleverly attempted murder. Both were more addictive to me than the bottle of Jim Beam in my bottom drawer.

I put my cigar out in the ashtray on my desk. "I will help you," I said, leaning forward. Her relieved smile bloomed across her lips. "On one condition."

She faltered at that, but that strength I had witnessed earlier hiding underneath disarming softness never left her eyes. "What is that?"

"I want you to assist me on the case."

"But I'm just a nurse, I don't know anything about solving a mystery. Why me?" She shook her head, confusion settling around her like a shroud.

I leaned back in my chair and paused a moment before answering. It was a good question. I did not normally ask my clients to work their own cases. "There is something about you that I trust." I didn't fully understand it myself, but my gut had proven right too often to ignore it now. "How about it, Watson?"

She looked at me for a moment, and it felt like I was being examined to determine my worth. I very much hoped I was not found wanting.

"We have a deal, Detective," she said, with a nod.

My answering smile was pleased. I had taken many interesting cases in my career, but I had a feeling this one was more important than them all.


End file.
